


Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [26]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Broken Bones, CSI Nilfgaard, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Rosemary and Thyme | Chameleon (The Witcher), The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Everything was supposed to be better. We saved Dandelion’s life, but I cost him everything.Out of the Frying Pan and Into the FireTo go from a bad situation to one that is worse
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold, Jaskier | Dandelion & Triss Merigold, Jaskier | Dandelion/Priscilla, Zoltan Chivay & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Zoltan Chivay & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598041
Comments: 59
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

Nothing ever went according to plan. With Dudu impersonating Menge, it hadn’t been hard to have Dandelion ordered to be removed from Temple Island, to be transported to Oxenfurt for his execution.

The plan had been simple. Lay in wait, nab the bard, run like hell back to Novigrad and convince him to lay low in the Rosemary and Thyme until ‘Menge’ could figure out a way to convince the Witch Hunters to leave him be.

What they hadn’t planned was for one of the guards to pull Dandelion from the prisoner transport carriage and make a break for it. “Go after Dandelion!” shouted Zoltan, running toward the Witch Hunters, axe in hand, his small army of dwarven friends thundering behind him. “We’ll handle these buggers!”

Swearing, Geralt raced after him, pushing his heels into Roach’s sides and urging her faster. But the man had an unfortunate head start. “Shit!” Geralt hissed. “Lost him. I’ll have to look for tracks.”

He slowed Roach to a quick trot, just enough that he could focus on the ground, his keen eyes easily picking out the tracks of the Witch Hunter’s horse.

The tracks wove through the forest, not following any trails, until they hit a small road. Just down the road was an encampment of travelers. Geralt reined in Roach, looking at the nearest camper.

“One glance tells me all I need to know about you,” she sneered. 

“Anyone ride through here?” he asked. “Two men, one slung over the saddle like a sack?”

“Oh aye,” she said. “Somethin’ o’ the kind dashed by.” She pointed just down the road. “Turned left there.”

“Thank you,” Geralt shifted in the saddle, preparing to kick Roach into a gallop, but something in the woman’s expression made him pause.

“But twere a wench he were carryin,’ swear it on me head,” said said. “Squealin’ and wailin’ so.” Geralt couldn’t help but laugh.

Roach took off down the trail at canter, taking the turn as the woman had instructed. Soon Geralt could see the soft footprints in the mud again. “Hmm,” he mused. “Looks like it might’ve started limping.” The tracks took an abrupt turn off the main trail, heading down what seemed to be a path used by wildlife.

Not much further along, he came across the Witch Hunter’s horse, dead on its side. “The horse collapsed. Can’t be far.”

Voices startled Geralt out of his thoughts, and he turned to see a group of irritated looking halflings arguing with one another. He jogged toward them, asking, “What is it?”

“You tell me!” shouted one of them. “One o’ them hunters barged into our hut, turned us out ‘fore we could so much as fart in protest!”

“There another man with him?” Geralt asked. “Tall, fair haired?”

“Aye,” said the second halfling. “Jabbering the whole time.” 

“Hmm, Dandelion,” said Geralt. “So the Hunter’s barricaded himself inside? There another way in?”

“Truth me told there is….” said the second halfling hesitantly. It was clear they had no interest in telling Geralt about it.

“Wanna get rid of this Hunter or not?”

“Honest?” asked the first halfling. “We’d see you all gone, but he’ll do for a start.” He held out a brass key to Geralt. “Cellar door ‘round the back.”

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t hard to find the cellar, and Geralt was soon sliding down into the darkness. In the house above him, he could hear voices.

_“And how can I be sure you won’t try anything? Ought to just keep ya, pretty Omega like you, could make a pretty penny at the markets.”_

_“I’ll go with you.”_ Geralt’s head shot up, recognizing the voice instantly. Dandelion. At least he was talking, though he sounded tired, worn down. _“Not like I really have a choice now, do I?”_

_“And there’ll be no trickery along the way? I could wring your neck like a fat hen’s you realize?”_

The Witcher stepped slowly through the cellar, stepping over and around the halflings’ paints and dyes.

_“Yes. But I also realize you won’t. My corpse is worth nothing to you, whereas alive…. Like I said, a hundred gold ingots! More than you’d get in any flesh market!”_

Geralt cocked his head, wondering if Dandelion still had part of Dijkstra’s treasure after all. Or, more likely, he was bluffing. 

_“No more, no less. Or I’m not Julian Alfred Pankratz! The Viscount de Lettenhove!”_

_Oh_ , thought Geralt. _That’s his game._ It was possible Dandelion’s father would pay the bounty, if just to keep the identity of his troublesome son a secret.

_“Viscount? Come on, everybody calls you Dandelion….”_ Clearly the hunter wasn’t very smart if he was so willing to believe that the captured Omega was nobility. Geralt knew it to be true, but he also knew how unlikely it was. 

_“That my friend, is what we call an assumed identity.”_ His voice was starting to sound a bit stronger, as though his game was cheering him up. _“Can’t expect me to reveal my full identity to every goitered idiot I run across… Now, if you could just unbind….”_

Apparently the hunter listened, as a moment later Dandelion said, _“You’ve made a wise choice. Very wise. Might not be more than a sergeant today, but tomorrow….”_

Geralt made his way up a ladder, into a cupboard in the house. As he stood, he knocked into a hanging pot. _Shit_.

_“Quiet! I thought I heard something.”_

_“What! No, no, no! You see, me and gags- we don’t-”_ The Witch Hunter must have shoved something in his mouth, as all Geralt heard after that was muffled grunts.

He stood still, waiting for the Witch Hunter to approach the closet. As soon as it opened, his hand was on his sword.

Dandelion’s captor was dead before the door was fully open. As his body slumped to the floor, revealing Dandelion, bound and gagged in a chair, Geralt wished he’d taken longer to kill him. He was dressed in his fine clothes - more ridiculous than Geralt had seen him wear in some time - so someone must have prettied him up for his execution. But his face was pale and frail, his eyes sunken in. But at the sight of Geralt he perked up.

Geralt strode across the room, releasing the bonds on the bard’s wrists with a quick slice of his dagger and pulling the gag from his mouth.

“Geralt!” whined the bard, “must you ruin everything? I had him right where I wanted him.” He rubbed at his wrists.

Geralt narrowed his eyes and Dandelion snickered. “It is good to see you, friend. Been a while since you were last in Novigrad.”

“Come on,” said Geralt, grabbing his shoulder and trying to push him from the chair. “We’ll talk outside.”

“But Geralt, it’s far more comfortable in here.”

Geralt stopped, turning to look at the bard with one raised brow. “What is it? What have you hurt?”

Dandelion leaned back, draping his arm over the back of the chair. “My foot- but I’m fine, no need to worry. Just- just help me up….”

“Which foot?”

Dandelion turned his head, looking into the hearth. “Both,” he said quietly. Quickly he added, “It’s not- don’t worry about it….”

Geralt tensed, then knelt beside Dandelion. “What do you mean?”

The bard licked his lips uncomfortably, scratching his nose. “Surely you’ve heard of it, Geralt,” he murmured, still making a point not to look at the Witcher. “ _Breaking the Buck_ , they call it. A good way to control an Omega.”

He grit his teeth. “It’s from that damn book.”

“Among other places…”

Geralt touched Dandelion’s foot and even through his shoe his winced. Thinking quickly he said, “Triss is waiting in Novigrad. She can help you.”

“She can… do you think that she will?”

“If I ask her to.”

“Speaking of medication,” Dandelion said slowly. “Geralt- I need- have you got my-”

“I couldn’t find your suppressants,” Geralt kept his voice quiet, on the off chance the halflings were nearby. He’d searched the tavern, but he’d been in a rush and not found them. “I’ll get you some, as soon as you’re back to the city.”

Dandelion nodded. Geralt bit his lip, knowing he probably shouldn’t press him, but needing to know what happened during the poet’s heat he asked, “Did they-”

“No,” he said tersely. “They left me in my cell, alone with two broken feet.” He sneered. “I suppose that’s better than being fucked.” Before Geralt could speak, he said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt lifted Dandelion onto his back, letting the bard wrap his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist. It was slightly less humiliating than throwing him over his shoulder, he supposed.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt laid Dandelion on his back, the bard whimpering at the movement. “Med-medication-” he stuttered. The ride back to Novigrad had been rough on him, even with Geralt keeping Roach’s gait as smooth as possible. By the time they’d reached the Rosemary and Thyme, he’d nearly been in tears.

“I know!” Geralt cast a frantic look around the room. Zoltan had gone to get Triss but- where was she? What was taking her so long?

“Dresser,” Dandelion said, pointing.

Geralt ripped open the top drawer, shoving aside Dandelion’s various perfumes and oils. “It’s not here,” he said.

“False bottom.” The bard struggled to push himself up. “Ah- back left corner. Press it with your finger.”

Geralt slipped his hand into the back of the drawer and pressed. A small compartment popped open and he grabbed the vial. Before he could take it to Dandelion, the door swung open and Geralt instinctively hid the medication in his pocket.

“I brought water,” said Priscilla.

_I have to get rid of her_ , Geralt realized. He suspected that Dandelion hadn’t told her his secret yet, meaning that he couldn’t give the bard his suppressant with her present. It had a distinctive smell that most people recognized immediately. 

Dandelion seemed to be of the same mind. “Priscilla,” he whined. “Where’s my lute?”

“In the music room,” she said.

“Could- could you get it for me?” Even with his back turned, Geralt could easily imagine Dandelion fluttering his eyelashes and sticking out his lip. _That trick always works on women_ , he thought with amusement.

Then he paused. _It works on me too_.

He was spared from further introspection by Priscilla sighing and saying, “Fine. Fine.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Geralt was at Dandelion’s side, measuring out the medication and mixing it into the water. “Drink this before she comes back.”

For once, Dandelion did as he was told, gulping it down and pulling a face at the terrible taste. “Ugh,” he moaned.

“I’ll bring you tea,” Geralt promised. “Wine, if you’d like. You’ve earned it.”

“Something for the pain?” Dandelion asked weakly.

“Wait until Triss gets here, she’ll know what to do.”

Dandelion gagged.

“She was my best option,” Geralt said. 

“I know,” Dandelion whispered. “I miss Regis. He could have healed me in an instant.”

_I doubt that_ , thought Geralt, but he didn’t argue. 

The door opened again just as Dandelion finished gulping his water. “My lute!” he cried with delight as Priscilla set it in his lap. “Oh, my darling, I’ve missed you so much!”

Geralt shook his head. “Well,” he said to Priscilla. “I hope you don’t mind being his second favorite for the rest of your life.”

She laughed.

“Geralt!” gasped Dandelion. “I already told Priscilla how happy I am to see her, but I’ve been missing my lute! That dungeon they had me in was horribly depressing!”

“Finished already?” Priscilla asked, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Dandelion’s empty glass. “Would you like more?”

“I wouldn’t say no to some wine,” said the bard. “Oh! Some of that new red, please.”

“Spoiled,” muttered Priscilla, shaking her head and turning back toward the door.

Dandelion watched her go, then turned to look at Geralt who was trying to prop his feet up with pillows. “They were going to kill me either way,” the bard muttered. “Burned at the stake, I believe. The breaks were just to humiliate me.”

“They’re all dead,” Geralt said.

Dandelion raised an eyebrow. “Is that meant to reassure me?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

The bard licked his lips. “I don’t like you killing people, Geralt.”

“Dandelion, I don’t enjoy it,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure if it was the truth or not. “They were trying to kill us.” 

The next time the door opened, it wasn’t Priscilla, but Triss who entered, holding a glass of wine. “I’m told this is for Dandelion.”

“Triss!” Geralt didn’t think he’d ever been so relieved to see the sorceress.

“Wine!” said Dandelion happily, holding out his arms.

“What happened?” Triss asked as she passed Dandelion the cup.

“Both of his legs are broken,” said Geralt.

“How bad is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Geralt. “We’ve not tried to touch it.” They hadn’t even removed his shoes, which probably hadn’t been the best idea.

Dandelion narrowed his eyes at Triss, but she pretended not to notice, kneeling beside him. “I need to see your legs.”

He swallowed. “Feet. It was my feet.”

“Let me see,” she urged.

His eyes flicked to Geralt who moved in quickly, sitting beside Dandelion and working his shoes and stockings loose.

“Ah! Careful!” whined Dandelion as he tossed the shoes aside. “H- hurts!”

Triss hissed in sympathy when she saw the damage. “They crushed his feet.” Geralt intentionally didn’t look, not wanting to know how bad it was. He couldn’t imagine how the men had gotten Dandelion back in his shoes, or if he’d been wearing them when the damage had been done.

“Can you heal it?” Geralt allowed Dandelion to grab his arm, sinking his fingers into his shirt with pained whimpers every time his feet were jostled.

“I can set the bones back where they belong,” she said slowly. “But-”

“Fuck that,” said Dandelion, who had already finished his glass of wine. “Will I walk again?”

“Yes,” she said.

He groaned and flopped out on the bed dramatically.

“You said but,” Geralt said.

She nodded, running her hand slowly over Dandelion’s foot. “I’ll set the bones where they belong, but the strain on the muscles and the bones themselves will take time to heal, even with magic.”

“What?” demanded Dandelion.

“Healing isn’t my strong suit,” fretted Triss. “Dandelion, I am sorry.”

The bard opened his mouth to protest.

“Quiet,” Geralt hissed over his shoulder at the bard. Turning back to Triss he asked, “Can you give him something for the pain, before you set the bones?”

“Yes,” she stood. “I’ll be back.”

As she hurried from the room, Dandelion struggled to push himself up. “Geralt- Geralt help me out of his jacket, it’s not comfortable for laying here.”

Geralt turned and slowly set to unlacing Dandelion’s shirt. As long as he’d known him - and as many times as he’d undressed him - he could never figure out the bard’s clothes on the first try.

“She and I don’t always get along, Geralt-” began Dandelion, his eyes darting toward the door.

“No, Dandelion, you won’t get along with her. She’s never been anything but kind to you-” Dandelion opened his mouth, but Geralt continued, “and no, I’m not done talking, bard. You don’t have to dislike her for my sake.”

Dandelion said nothing.

“She let the Witch Hunters torture her so that I could find you,” Geralt said quietly.

The bard sunk back into his pillows with a pathetic noise.

A knock sounded on the door and without waiting for an answer Triss stepped in. “Good,” she said. “I was going to tell you to make him comfortable. This will take a while.”


	3. Chapter 3

A shout echoed from up the steps. Priscilla winced.

Zoltan was still gone.

Apparently Triss hadn’t bothered to teleport the dwarf along with her when she’d arrived at the Rosemary and Thyme to treat Dandelion. Priscilla understood the rush, but she would have liked to have someone to keep her company as she sat downstairs, waiting for news. She wasn't even certain what had happened. She supposed it was something with Dandelion's feet, given that he hadn't been walking. 

Geralt hadn’t been entirely clear on what had happened. He’d emerged from the halfling’s hut, Dandelion perched on his back, and told Zoltan to ride as fast as he could for Novigrad and to have Triss Merigold meet them at the Rosemary and Thyme.

They’d hoped the sorceress would be waiting for them, but she hadn’t been.

Geralt had carried Dandelion up the stairs, and - though she’d tried to help - they’d made it clear Priscilla was in the way. When Triss had finally arrived, the sorceress had run up the stairs without saying a word to her.

So Priscilla sat downstairs, listening to Dandelion’s occasional screams.

Just as she was about to break into the liquor, the door to the tavern burst open and Zoltan thundered in.

“Where’s Dandelion?” demanded the frazzled looking dwarf. A pained cry echoed from upstairs, answering his question.

“Still with Triss,” said Priscilla glumly.

“And Geralt?”

“With Dandelion.” She frowned. “Zoltan, what-”

“Did ya know, lassie?”

“Did I know what? That he’s besotted with Geralt? I think everyone knows that. We’ve talked about it- well, he’s talked about it and I listened.”

“Oh dear,” moaned Zoltan. “Ya don’t know, do ya?”

“Know what?”

The dwarf looked at her sadly. “I figured it out myself back when I first traveled with them, before Geralt’s death. The bard’s a bit too pretty, if ya know what I mean.”

Priscilla folded her arms over her chest. “I know plenty of ‘pretty’ men who are happily married to women.”

“Oh no,” moaned the dwarf. “Oh, it ain’t right of me ta have ta tell ya this but-” he shook his head. “Better me than the flyers, I suppose.”

“What flyers?” demanded Priscilla. “Zoltan, what’s going on?”

The dwarf took a deep breath, then stomped to the bar and poured himself a drink. “Sit down,” he said, pouring a second glass and handing it to Priscilla.

She sipped it slowly.

“Dandelion’s an Omega,” Zoltan grunted.

She turned sharply toward the steps. “Is he bonded to Geralt?” she asked. “I don’t need to deal with a vengeful Witcher, if I’m dating his mate-”

“Pah!” spat Zoltan. “Geralt ain’t the type, even if he were bonded.”

“Why are you telling me?”

Zoltan took another drink. 

* * *

Triss slipped from the room, leaving Geralt sitting with an exhausted Dandelion. She’d put the bones back in place, then wrapped his feet to stabilize them. He wouldn’t be walking for a while, but eventually, he would be back on his feet. She’d promised.

Geralt placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Dandelion, can you stay awake for a few more minutes?”

The bard nodded. “Of course, Geralt,” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment then opening them. “Anything.”

“Where’s Ciri?”

“Ciri?” Dandelion’s face fell. “I- I thought, seeing as how you’re here…. You haven’t seen her? I… I don’t know where she is….” It was clear he was struggling to stay awake, his words slightly slurred. 

“I know you tried to help her,” Geralt said, gripping the bard’s shoulder tightly. “I gotta say, I’m having trouble understanding why you went to Whoreson Junior of all people….”

Dandelion shrugged and blinked. Then he yawned. “Well, given- given more time I- I could have found someone else but-” he shrugged. “She said the Wild Hunt was on her tail. He- seemed mild, in compa- complar- comparison.”

“Something went wrong.”

“Clearly.” Dandelion snorted and shook his head. “My plan was perfect!” He moaned. “Until we… put it in motion…”

“I’ve heard enough about your plan,” Geralt said. There would be time to tell him off over that later. “I need to know what happened to Ciri. Where’d you last see her?”

“Temple isle,” Dandelion said softly. “We- the plan crumbled - it should have been the heist of the century!”

“Dandelion, focus.” Geralt could tell he was losing him to the drugs Triss had given him and the spells she’d woven over him.

“The hunters came from no where, they- they must’ve- must’ve known I was an Omega. Scent trap- I stumbled….” Dandelion shook his head. “She vanished, Geralt.”

“They used a scent trap to catch you?” Geralt cocked his head. How had the Temple known he was an Omega before catching him? He had assumed they learned it after, when the suppressants had worn off.

“Geralt I- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Geralt said, brushing a hand through Dandelion’s hair. “You did your best poet, now try to rest.”

“You,” Dandelion mumbled, his eyes slipping shut. “You need to find… Ciri-”

“I’m staying for at least a night,” Geralt said simply. 

“Don’t have to.”

“I know.” He offered Dandelion a soft smile, which the poet weakly returned.

Dandelion fell asleep not long after that. Geralt remained beside him, watching over him incase he woke.

But then the door opened again. He was getting very tired of the door opening, and decided to install a latch on it at the soonest possible moment. “Geralt,” whispered Priscilla. “Geralt, come here.” 

“Not now.”

“Geralt, it’s important.”

“I’m busy!” he hissed back.

Triss was suddenly stepping through the door, pushing Priscilla toward Dandelion. “She’ll sit with Dandelion,” she said to Geralt, her voice quiet, but urgent. “You need to hear this.”

He looked between the two women, then back to Dandelion, laying limply on the bed. Finally, after a moment’s deliberation he nodded and stood. Letting Priscilla take his seat he followed Triss into the hall.

“Dandelion’s in trouble,” she said.

“He’s fine,” Geralt argued. “We have him back, Triss, he-”

“The Church of the Eternal Fire denounced him as a heretic. They said- they said he’s an Omega pretending to be an Alpha.”

Suddenly the hall felt too small, the walls closing in on him. Every noise in the city, every creak of the floor, every distant voice, rattled in his head. It took a moment for him to form a clear thought, finally asking, “Where did they announce it?”

“Everywhere.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you it was gonna get rough.


	4. Chapter 4

“Dandelion.”

“Geralt?” the bard smiled weakly, pushing himself up. “You’re still here.” He seemed much more alert than before. It seemed the few hours of sleep he’d gotten had made a world of difference.

“Change of plans,” Geralt said. “I’ll be in Novigrad for a few more days.”

Dandelion’s face lit up. “ _Well_ , well. Not that I’m complaining…. But why? Geralt, I told you I’d be fine.”

Geralt sat on the edge of his bed. It had already been several hours since they’d gotten the news. They’d had other things to check, precautions to take, and it had seemed best to let Dandelion rest in blissful ignorance until everything was sorted.

If not for Priscilla, Geralt wouldn’t have known what to do other than grab Dandelion and run for it.

But now that it was handled - or, as handled as it could be - there was no reason not to talk to Dandelion. He would have to know eventually. The longer they put it off, the more he would resent them.

They (meaning Priscilla and Zoltan) had thought he would take it best coming from Geralt. It was probably true, but that didn’t make it easier.

“Geralt?” he repeated. “Geralt what’s the matter? Has something happened to Ciri?” He reached out and grabbed Geralt’s wrist, squeezing tightly.

“No.” Geralt looked away, unable to handle his worried eyes anymore. _This is my fault_ , he thought glumly. _I got him mixed up in this_. “The-” he swallowed, “the Church.”

Dandelion’s breath caught, his eyes flicking with fear. “What about them?”

“They knew I would come for you. There was- they had a failsafe, in case you escaped your execution.”

“What do you mean?”

Geralt’s mouth was dry as he said, “They’ve denounced you as a heretic.”

“Oh? Is that all?” Dandelion snickered. “What was it for? Adultery? Sodomy? Polygamy? My stunning good looks? _Blasphemy_?”

He spit it all out at once before he lost his nerve, saying, “For being an unmated Omega, for owning property, and for taking suppressants.”

Dandelion went still. “No.”

“Dandelion-”

“Liar!” The bard shoved himself up, his eyes blazing.

Geralt grabbed him before he could try to stand. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Dandelion. You know that.”

Dandelion sunk back into the pillows. “I’m going to lose everything.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I’m not even allowed to own property,” he whispered, looking around the room, as though watching it all disappear before his eyes.

“Vimme already sent a message,” Geralt assured him. “That dwarf likes you, it seems. As soon as he heard, he changed all your assets to my name. It’s postdated several years. No one will be able to touch it.”

“Wonderful,” Dandelion said dryly. He closed his eyes, laying his arm over his face. “I’m so glad I have a big, strong alpha to protect me. Shall I suck your cock as thanks?” he sneered. “Let you turn me over a table before I make a withdrawal?”

“You still have full access to the accounts. It’s a formality, only. If there’s someone else’s name you want it in-”

“No,” snapped Dandelion. “But I have accounts under Julian Alfred Pankratz as well, in Oxenfurt. Have those switched. And send my resignation to Oxenfurt. Perhaps I can get it in before they fire me from the circuit of guest lecturers. It would be more satisfying that way.”

“Dandelion-”

The bard interrupted him, asking, “What did Priscilla and Zoltan say?”

“Zoltan had already figured it out. Years ago, it seems,” Geralt said. “Priscilla was surprised, but she’s still here. Only seemed upset you hadn’t told her.”

Dandelion frowned. “Well, why _would_ I?”

“I told you that you didn’t tell anyone. Ever. She seemed to understand.”

Dandelion frowned, then muttered, “I like her.”

“She seemed to like you. Must not have gotten to know you yet.”

“Your wit, while appreciated, isn’t going to solve this, Geralt.” Dandelion slumped onto his side, rolling to face away from Geralt. “I’d like to sleep now. Perhaps I’ll have a good dream.”

* * *

“Geralt?”

He glanced up from where he was keeping a silent vigil over Dandelion. “Hello Triss.” She was standing in the doorway, clearly unwilling to enter and disturb Dandelion. Geralt followed her into the hall, leaving the door cracked so he could see if the bard woke.

“How did he take it?”

Geralt shrugged. “He took it.” What did it matter how Dandelion had taken it? Everything was ruined regardless.

She sighed. “Geralt-”

“Everything was supposed to be better,” Geralt said softly. Triss gave him a sympathetic look. “We saved Dandelion’s life, but I cost him everything.”

“It’s not your fault, Geralt.”

“If he hadn’t known me-”

“Then I have no doubt he’d be six feet under by now.” The sorceress folded her arms over her chest. “I know him, Geralt, and so do you. He’s helpless without you.”

“Maybe if I hadn’t been cleaning up his messes all these years he’d have learned to take care of himself.”

Triss snorted. “No,” was all she said.

“What’s going to happen?” Geralt asked finally. “You’re the political expert- what happens to Dandelion?”

“I’m no expert on Omegas, Geralt,” she said with a soft sigh.

“Hazard a guess.”

“Legally? He should be in the clear. With everything transferred to your name, no one will be able to touch it. You could appoint him as proprietor of the tavern and he could run it as though nothing’s changed.”

_But things will have changed_ , Geralt thought. _Dandelion’s name wouldn’t be on it, and that will upset him more than anything_. Not that he'd expect Triss to understand.

“Oxenfurt could chose to withdraw his degrees, it’s their right to do so, but I don’t know if they will. They’ve had a few Omegas graduate, so it’s likely they’ll ignore this. Although….”

“What?”

“The Omegas that graduated did so in relative quiet.”

“And Dandelion’s loud and obnoxious and he tricked them.”

Triss nodded. “Socially…. He’ll face harassment, of course. Most of his girlfriends will leave him-”

“He’s completely devoted to Priscilla now," said Geralt wrly, "or don’t you know?”

“That won’t last,” said Triss, shaking her head. “He’s Dandelion, Geralt. Speaking of which, you’ll have to notify _Crippled Kate's_ and the _Passiflora_ that he’s permitted to enter.”

“Gods- what?”

“Brothels won’t allow Omegas entry without the permission of their alpha,” she explained.

“I’m not his owner!”

“You’re his Alpha.”

“No, I’m not! The bond mark faded after my death.”

Triss’ eyes widened. “He’s unmarked?”

“Unless he’s found someone else,” said Geralt waving his hands. “The only other Alpha he’s ever taken a shine to was Anna Henrietta, and she wants his head!”

“That puts him in danger, Geralt.”

“Believe me,” said the Witcher. “I know.” He glanced back in Dandelion’s room where the bard was still sleeping peacefully. “Triss, I need a favor.”

“What?”

“I have to go to Skelliege. Not immediately, but soon-”

“I’ll keep an eye on him, although, I’m not certain that having a sorceress living with him is the best protection in Novigrad right now.”

“Between you and Zoltan, I’ll know he’s safe.” 


	5. Chapter 5

“Geralt.”

The Witcher’s eyes snapped open immediately and he sat up. He’d been sitting on the rug by Dandelion’s bed, meditating as the bard rested, but as soon as he heard his name he was wide awake.

“I’m hungry,” said the bard after a moment. He was laying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling impassively, barely moving at all.

“What would you like?” asked Geralt. He inched closer to the bed, trying to get a good look at Dandelion, to get a feel for what state he was in, but the bard remained curled under the blankets, hidden.

“I don’t care,” was the muffled reply.

Geralt stood slowly. “I’ll find you something,” he said softly.

Dandelion only grunted.

Zoltan was the only one downstairs when Geralt entered and he gave the Witcher a nod. “Ladies had things to do,” he said simply.

Geralt nodded but didn’t speak as he prepared a tray for Dandelion, then carried it back up the steps.

The bard hadn’t moved since he’d left, so Geralt sat it on the bed and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Dandelion?”

“Thank you Geralt,” he said quietly, pushing himself up and giving the tray a reproachful glance as it was placed in his lap.

Dandelion barely ate three bites before he sat it aside and sunk back into the blankets, mumbling softly and rubbing at his face.

“I thought you were hungry,” said Geralt quietly.

“I’m not anymore,” said the poet simply.

“What can I do?” He needed to distract him. Geralt knew him well enough to know that he was prone to wallow in his thoughts, so something - even an argument - would be better than leaving him to sulk.

Dandelion fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, pulling at a loose thread. “Nothing.”

The Witcher studied his face until Dandelion made a point of turning away, rolling onto his side so that he was facing the wall rather than his friend. “There must be something-”

“There isn’t.”

Geralt sighed. “How are your feet?”

“Hurts.”

“Triss left a cream, would you like-”

“No.”

Geralt sighed. “Dandelion, you can’t sit here and just-”

“Why not?” The bard sat up, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s all omegas are good for, after all. You kept my book-”

“I burned it.”

_“It is known that Omegas are ill prepared for the world at large, therefore they are to be secluded away, until-”_

“Dandelion, stop quoting that damn book!” He hadn’t mentioned the book (on his own) in months, Geralt had (naively) hoped he’d forgotten about it. But then again, if the Church had broken his feet because of something in the book then it made sense that they had probably mentioned it to him.

“They read it to me,” said Dandelion. “And then- Geralt, they performed an exorcism on me, can you believe that?” The bard pushed himself up, staring at Geralt incredulously. “They thought that I must have evil spirits living inside me that ‘tempted’ me with Suppressants and polygamy.”

“It’s not evil spirits,” promised Geralt with a grin. “You’re just horny and stupid.”

“Geralt!” The bard’s eyes glinted, but he seemed more amused than angered.

“And polygamy? Dandelion, the words they’re looking for are womanizing, cheating, and general whoreishness.”

The bard folded his arms over his chest. “Remind me why you’re my friend, again Geralt?”

“Hmm,” said the Witcher, cocking his head. “Not sure.”

Dandelion let out a snort and shook his head. “Fuck off, Geralt,” he grumbled. He shifted uncomfortably, then said, “You mentioned that Triss left a cream?”

“She did.”

Dandelion gave him an expectant look. “I suppose you want me to fetch it for you?”

“I do,” said the bard, flopping back into his pillows. “You could rub it in, as well.”

Geralt shook his head, muttering under his breath as he walked to Dandelion’s dresser and picked up the jar of ointment.

Dandelion tossed his covers aside as Geralt came closer, but he didn’t sit up, as though he didn’t want to have to look at the damage that had been done. Geralt couldn’t blame him.

In fact, Geralt envied him a bit. He didn’t have a choice but to look at the damage.

He carefully removed the wrappings that Triss had done the night before and studied Dandelion’s feet.

“How bad does it look?” asked Dandelion softly.

“Looks like feet.” Geralt, not for the first time, was amazed by Triss’ healing abilities. Dandelion’s feet were red and puffy, clearly inflamed, but they weren’t misshapen as he’d feared.

“I can practically hear your thoughts,” Geralt said, dipping his hand into the jar and scooping out a bit of the cream. “Anything interesting, or the usual love lorn tripe?”

“Planning,” said the poet. He winced as Geralt shifted his foot.

“Planning another heist?”

“Of course not!” he said, sounding more cheered than he had since his rescue. “The last one gave me enough material for a volume of ballads! And this one’ll sell like hotcakes.”

Geralt couldn’t help himself, snapping, “That all you care about? The ballads this’ll inspire?”

Dandelion looked up, pouting slightly. “Geralt-”

“Ego swell a bit lately? Getting more and more selfish with age.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say, but Dandelion, thankfully, didn’t seem to take it personally.

“What is that about?” Dandelion whined. He wiggled his toes, as though to remind Geralt that he’d stopped applying the cream.

“It’s about Ciri!” he snapped, scooping more of the ointment and moving on to Dandelion’s other foot.

The bard pushed himself up and stared at Geralt. “Why would I ever worry about her?” he asked incredulously. “You have any idea how she fights? The girl can take care of herself, believe me.”

Geralt shook his head, looking down and refusing to meet the Witcher’s gaze. “She shouldn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about Ciri, Geralt.” As he spoke he pulled pillows so that he could prop himself up and stare at Geralt without much effort. “She’ll have to come back for that little box. That trinket started all of this.”

“I found the phylactery,” Geralt said.

“You got it from Whoreson? Oh good! Ciri’ll be overjoyed!” Dandelion frowned, biting his lip. “Whoreson, on the other hand’s gonna be pretty pissed.”

“Whoreson’s dead.”

“Oh?” Dandelion searched Geralt’s face, and for a moment the Witcher thought he was going to be scolded for murder. “Guess you’re no stranger to fury either,” mused the poet. Then he shrugged. “Weeeeell, can’t say I regret the man’s passing. Deserved it about as much as he deserved that… awkward nickname.”

“Hmm,” said Geralt, focusing on his task to avoid more questions about the death of Whoreson.

The poet frowned, pushing hair behind his ear as he thought about his next words. “What about our _friend_ , Sigi Reuven? Have you been to see him?”

“He’s fine,” spat Geralt.

Dandelion groaned. “Aw, that’s too bad. ‘Cause there’s a good chance he’s furious with me.”

“He hired me to find the thief.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “Ah- are you going to?”

“Dijkstra can take his riches and shove it up his ass,” snapped Geralt. “Back to the phylactery, Ciri ever tell you what it is? And Whoreson- why’d she go to him with it?”

Dandelion shrugged. “She went to Whoreson because I took her there.”

Geralt shook his head, picking up fresh bandages to wrap Dandelion’s feet. “Coulda guessed that was your idea.”

“What?” Dandelion folded his arms over his chest. “Her magic bauble was broken - Whoreson had access to the mages who could fix it. Hey! Careful, that hurt.” He pouted and Geralt loosened the bandages he was wrapping. “Besides, she needed help deciphering a curse- it’s incantation.”

“What was Ciri’s interest in this curse?” Geralt asked, frowning as he focused on his task. “Did she want to cast it or lift it? She tell you?”

“She wasn’t all that willing to talk about it. I didn’t want to pry.”

Geralt paused, looking up at Dandelion with his mouth hanging open. “The one time when it might have been useful!”

Dandelion managed to look sheepish. “But I’m almost positive she meant to lift it.”

“Off who?” Geralt leaned forward. “Or was it about her directly?”

“No. I don’t think so… she didn’t look cursed.”

“Because you’re an expert,” muttered Geralt.

“But boy was she in a hurry.”

“Know anything more about the curse?” He set the bandages aside, leaning back to study Dandelion. “Something specific? A detail? Anything?”

“Hmm.” Dandelion bit his lip. “Well, I know the words.”

Geralt’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“No, they were Elven.” Dandelion shrugged. “Ciri was repeating them constantly to herself, probably trying not to forget.”

Geralt waited a moment, but Dandelion remained silent. “Well, are you going to tell me?”

“Went like this: _va fail, elaine - caed' mil, folie! glaeddyv dorne aep t'enaid, bunn'droh ithne i'yachus_.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

“Means even less to me.”

Geralt sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “Thanks Dandelion. I- I’m going to talk to Triss, see if she can translate the curse-”

“No need,” said Dandelion. “Geralt- I speak Elder, you know this.” He shrugged. “But the curse is gibberish as far as I can tell.”

“Hmm.” Geralt frowned. “Sometimes curses lay more in the intent than the words themselves. Still, I need to talk to Triss. Will you be alright for a few minutes?” He’d managed to distract Dandelion, but he wasn’t sure how long it would last once the conversation was over.

Dandelion nodded. “I’d like to write, my papers and quill are on my desk.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I’m supposed to get them for you?”

“Yes.”

With a snort the Witcher pushed himself to his feet, striding across the room and picking up Dandelion’s supplies, carrying them back to the bard’s bed. Dandelion sat up and held out his hands expectantly.

“You’re welcome,” said Geralt.

Dandelion was already spreading the papers out, lost in his thoughts. Geralt just hoped it was nothing too depressing. He’d send Zoltan to sit with him, the dwarf could make anyone laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt: This is Ciri, my smol, delicate child
> 
> Dandelion: Geralt your child scares me more than every woman I’ve ever fucked combines. Everyday I think the gods that she’s on my side.


	6. Chapter 6

He ended up being gone longer than he’d intended, and it was dark by the time Geralt returned to the Rosemary and Thyme. A note from Zoltan proclaimed that both the bard and the dwarf were asleep, so Geralt intended to sneak upstairs without bothering them.

As he passed Dandelion’s room he stopped. Muffled sobs echoed through the door. Geralt paused, then placed his hand on the door. “It’s only me,” he said softly before pushing the door open.

Dandelion was sprawled in the middle of the floor, on his stomach as though he’d tried to crawl and then given up.

“Dandelion!” Geralt hurried to his side, placing an arm around his shoulders. “What happened?”

“I fell.”

“Why were you up?”

Dandelion’s face flushed red and he looked away. “I have to piss,” he muttered.

“I’ll help you.” Geralt half carried him across the room to the chamber pot, then turned his back as Dandelion did his business.

“You don’t know how humiliating this is,” Dandelion sneered as Geralt helped him to fumble back into his pants.

“Don’t I?”

Cornflower blue eyes flashed. “No.”

“Remember when you found me in Brokilon? I couldn’t do anything for myself, the dryads had to take care of me.”

“Yes, but those are Dryads.”

“The Striga? When I went to Mother Nenekke for help? I had priestesses helping me piss, how do you think that felt?”

“Women’s hands on your cock?” Dandelion tilted his head. “Sounds rather lovely to me. Better than my company at least.”

“Am I not pretty enough for you, poet?”

“No,” sniffed Dandelion. “You look like a rat.” His eyes gleamed with mischief.

“I see how it is,” said Geralt, folding his arms over his chest. “Shall I go get Priscilla for you, bard? Would you prefer her to wipe your ass?”

“No.” Dandelion looked away.

“It was a joke, Dandelion,” he said, bending over to pick the bard up, carrying him back to bed.

Dandelion allowed himself to be tucked into bed, more than happy to let Geralt fuss over him, making sure the blankets were drawn tightly around him.

“You should go.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Dandelion said, shaking his head. “I mean you should leave Novigrad. You need to find Ciri, not worry about me.”

“Dandelion-“

“Geralt,” he said firmly. “I insist. I want you to be gone in the morning.”

“I can’t-”

“You can,” argued Dandelion, squeezing Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt, I’ll be alright,” he promised. “I have Priscilla and Zoltan and Triss.”

They can’t protect you the way I can, thought Geralt miserably. But Dandelion had a fair point. “I- I have to go to Skellige,” he said. “Yen is there, she thinks she may have a lead on Ciri.”

Dandelion smiled. “Take care of yourself, Geralt,” he said quietly. “I’ll be here once you’ve found her.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [Follow me on Tumblr](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/). I accept prompts, fangirling, and accusations of character abuse.
> 
> All posts about the A/B/O verse can be found [here](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/tagged/series%3A-a%2Fb%2Fo)


End file.
